The Unshining Star
by Kovukono
Summary: Scar knows that to achieve peace between the lions and the hyenas, certain sacrifices have to be made. But when the time comes, can he really bring himself to kill his own nephew? A different take on the Lion King universe, and what might have happened if things were a little bit different. A joint work between Kovukono and TLKFan.
1. Chapter 1

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter One

* * *

Hi everyone. TLKFan approached me a while back with an idea for a story and we decided to co-write it. While I can't promise any updates to any of my other stories, we are at least going to be updating this consistently from start until finish. I hope you enjoy it.

TLKFan: This fanfiction will be a joint effort between myself and Kovukono, who has been one of my greatest supporters for some years now. I can honestly say that I never had any intentions of returning to The Lion King's universe, but when I watched the film again with a young friend of mine, I was inspired, and this story is the result.

* * *

It took no more than a moment for the departing majordomo to vanish into the endless sunlit plains. There, somewhere, the proud Lion King patrolled his lands. Perhaps today he'd hear from his supplicants, or plan a hunt, or simply relax in the shade with the lionesses before his wife came back from her reconnaissance mission.

But what was there to patrol? It was spring and the movement of the herds was like clockwork. They'd begin at that little creek to the far south, where a huddle of wizened trees hunched over an oasis like old men over a chessboard. Then, in a few weeks, they'd migrate to the lush forested area to the east. After all the food there was depleted, they'd eat their way west, over the endless soft grasslands, until it was late in the fall. Then they'd scatter to the fringes of the Pride Lands and beyond until the end of winter.

"Perhaps there's been another incursion into our lands," Scar said out loud. "No doubt the fault of the hyenas. Nevermind that they don't have the forces to defend their own lands, oh no, they're doubtlessly scheming to attack us even now."

The very idea was laughable. The meager, anarchic legions of hyenas, face off against lions? Mufasa alone was worth a dozen of them, far more than that in open battle. Scar himself was worth nearly as many, and each lioness could take on more than her share of the enemy that wasn't yet an enemy. The only way hyenas could kill a lion was via ambush, and the only way that would work was if it was a dozen hyenas to one lion. Then they had a prayer of destroying their target before reinforcements swooped in and routed the lot of them.

And Mufasa, in all of his military genius, had sent his wife out to a distant quadrant of the country. All alone, all by herself. Of course he had. Scar only had to touch the gash on his face and remember his namesake to understand why Mufasa had sent Sarabi out there, a dozen miles away from anyone.

Still, he was almost worried. Almost. But Sarabi was a great huntress and almost as great of a warrior. A pack of mangy hyenas couldn't sneak up on her if she was asleep, and Scar had seen her when she was paying attention. No blade of grass shifted without her notice.

But provoking the hyenas, tempting them by sending a feared lieutenant right up to the very edge of their territory, that wasn't enough for Mufasa, oh no. Last night there had been a meeting to which Scar was only invited because he was Mufasa's brother, and the fool-the bloody jingoist had actually floated the idea of staging troops in the hyenas' land. To keep an eye on them, he said. To make sure that they're behaving themselves, he said.

And, Scar had said, how would the hyenas react when the troops were invariably detected? It might take them some time-weeks, maybe-months, even-but eventually, someone would forget to wipe a pawprint, or to stand upwind, or _something_. Their ire evoked, _all_ the hyenas would rally and eradicate the slight against their pride. Blood to wash the stain away, they'd say, and they'd consider the debt paid.

And then what, he'd asked. Decent lions would be killed, for what? For more accurate reports of how the hyenas were _still_ mired in civil war? How they were _still_ barely scratching life from the rocks and bones of their country? How a few of their fractured armies dreamed of invading the Pride Lands, but hadn't the strength to do so, and _knew_ they didn't have the strength to do so?

His brother had silenced him with a blow that left stars dancing in Scar's vision. It's our right to enter hyena territory as we please; _we are lions_. And if they harm troops that the Lion King has ordered there, then, in Heaven's name, I will massacre them down to the last child.

Far too much applause had rung out in the den when Mufasa had said that. Roared it, really, so that they could all hear. Some were sycophants, trying to improve themselves in the eyes of their leader. Others were just scared of appearing to question him. But there was a sizable bloc in the pride who-like Mufasa-seemed to dream of a full scale war with the hyenas.

At least then they'd stop their endless civil warring, Scar thought. Predictable. The appearance of a greater, shared threat stops internal squabbling. The absurdity was that Mufasa knew this, or ought to know this, or else the endless hours they'd each spent at their father's feet learning about military theory were all for naught.

It almost saddened Scar that his brother was a madman. Almost. But he'd lived with the reality that the heir to the throne of the Lion King was insane from when he was a child. He'd never gotten along with his brother, ever, and it was only because of tradition that the throne had gone to him when their revered father had died. Ahadi had practically said as much, in one of his last days.

"Protect your brother, Scar," he'd said. "Help me. If you can… advise him. And if it comes to it, if you absolutely have to do it… delay him. Distract him from his obsession with the hyenas. If you don't… our pride will suffer."

Ahadi hadn't known how right he was.

The truth was that this was the golden age, or else, it ought to be. Never had there been such perfect weather for so long, so long that storms themselves were becoming legendary. Never had the herds been so predictable, and reliable, and strong. This ought to be a time of peace and prosperity, of exploration and discovery, and Mufasa was squandering it by balancing on the razor's edge between uneasy peace and all out warfare.

Perhaps madness wasn't the extent of the afflictions he had.

And now-Scar shivered-he had a son. He'd seen little of his nephew so far, but though the lad seemed to be a happy pleasant sort of child, he was his father's son. And he would become his father's heir ideologically sooner or later. Already Scar had heard him make his father laugh by playing with a butterfly and then loudly wishing that it was a hyena's head.

But that didn't make what had to be done any easier to do. No matter that it was for the greater good… it wouldn't be easy to do.

It was at that moment that he heard the sound the pride had grown to abhor in the early morning. Tap-tap-tap-tap, too light to be a lion's, but too loud to be a hunter's. He began to steel himself, but Simba was upon him before he could.

"Hey, Uncle Scar!"

He looked over at the cub. His nephew. And Simba looked back at him with trusting, endearing wide eyes. That perfect age-so happy to learn, to accept. So malleable. Scar sometimes felt a pang of regret that he didn't have any that he could call his own.

"Ah. My favorite nephew," he observed. His voice was all culture and class, frustration buried deep below it. The last time he'd heard "Hey, Uncle Scar," Simba had been covered in elephant dung. The time before that was him showing a bunch of crickets he'd killed. Nothing good ever followed those words. But this time Simba seemed unsoiled. Just excited.

"More like your only nephew," Simba grinned at him. "My dad just showed me the kingdom! It's so big! And it's so great!"

"Indeed," muttered Scar. Hopefully a noncommittal response would put the boy off and he'd go and bother someone else.

"And Dad said I'm going to rule it all!"

"All of it?" asked Scar, mock incredulity in his voice.

"Yeah! Everything the light touches!"

"That's quite a bit of responsibility," Scar rasped.

Responsibility that was going unheeded and unchecked. He remembered his father's open-den policy, no matter was too small for the king's personal attention. Ahadi had been a man of the people, something that Scar had admired. He'd been the one who had gone with his father on the long, tiring walks to inspect everything that had needed inspecting. Mufasa, on the other hand had stopped once he had started getting his mane-and started noticing that girls weren't terrible. The open den policy was maintained, but Mufasa was inapproachable. If he wasn't flexing his muscles at himself, the lionesses were fawning over him, making comments that no Lion King should ever tolerate.

Scar could never have claimed to have good genetics or be particularly strong, but the exercise and tutelage had helped toughen him. Mufasa, on the other hand, seemed to pack it on from simply laying around. Perhaps, in another life, the roles would have been reversed, but Scar didn't have the luxury of dreaming of it. He had the problem here and now. The thick-headed lunk with the ego and testosterone in place of a dim bulb in his head, the one who was not only intent on starting a war, but hellbent on it.

And here was the son of the brute in front of him, happy and wide-eyed, innocent and charming. It reminded him of a younger Mufasa, one who had played lions and hyenas with no true malice behind it. But it was only a matter of time. Without action-radical action-Simba would soon become his father's son.

"If Dad can rule, so can I!" Simba boasted, his chest puffing forward. Scar's lips curled in a smile, half from the ridiculousness of it, and half out of the thought of how little he would miss the prancing about.

"Oh? And what does Daddy do?" asked Scar. "Does he fight hyenas?"

"Yeah! Those nasty, smelly things!" said Simba, bearing his teeth.

"And does he hunt for dinner?"

Simba paused. "Uh...sometimes, I guess." Yes, when his father had the urge to kill and hadn't gotten a decent whiff of hyena in the territory. "The lionesses do it, mostly."

"What about answering the questions of the animals? Listening to their problems?"

Simba snorted. "That's Zazu's job," he dismissed.

Of course it was. Actually dealing with problems, that was Zazu's job, being a pretty figurehead with a mane and a tongue for war, that was the King's job. There was nothing in the child's head but what his father had filled it with. And who could blame him? Mufasa was King. He was strong, intimidating, brash, outspoken, everything that a weak mind would admire. A show of blunt, brutal force, the very thing that empty heads gravitated toward for spectacle or power.

The Hell of it was that there was no unseating him. Scar held no fantasies: if he challenged his brother for the throne, he would lose, and if he didn't die, he'd be exiled, and who would care for the pride then? And rebellion was also out of the question in a pride where looks and bold talk meant more than wisdom and the willingness to listen. Scar was not unmuscled, but next to his brother he was scrawny. That and his dark fur meant that no matter how properly he spoke or how tall he stood, he didn't have the bearing or the demeanor needed to win anyone over to his side.

The boy was the key to it all. Mufasa prized few things in life. He prized his power most of all, but his heir was a close second. He lamented over and over how he had no trueborn child, no one to carry on his name, his line, his beautiful face. Mufasa had scoffed at the thought of anyone remembering his brother in comparison to him-but it had planted the seed in his mind. The idea of what would come after. It was good to be strong now. It was good to be powerful. But people knew him as Mufasa, son of Ahadi. He hated that title, hated it with a passion. He would be Mufasa, King of the Pridelands-and his son, he would bear his name. Simba, son of Mufasa. Mufasa the Great, the Powerful. Mufasa, Crusher-no, _Destroyer_ of the Hyenas. Simba would ensure that his memory remained, telling stories of his father.

Mufasa was strong, powerful, deadly, brutal. But Simba was his weak spot. And only Scar knew it.

"Zazu's job to talk to the subjects, is it?" Scar said. The very idea made him shiver, so he turned away and looked into the distance. "Humor me, Simba. Why is it Zazu's job?"

"Because Dad said so," Simba said simply. "Besides, he's too busy with the hyenas."

"But Simba, have you even seen a hyena?" asked Scar.

"Have you?" the boy countered.

To be honest, Scar hadn't expected the question. It had been so long since he had actually seen one. It had been with his father, the two of them stalking the animal through the tall grass. It hadn't even been a task-they simply needed to follow the trail of blood that was smeared along the ground. It was doubtful that even if they had turned around and gone home, it would have lived. But they found it. Scar saw the viciousness in the beast's eyes, the danger it posed even mortally wounded. But it was alone, something that Scar hadn't ever quite puzzled through. It had proved no challenge. Ahadi stepped to it, closed his jaws, and the hyena was gone forever. Not an execution-a mercy killing.

He didn't say as much to Simba, though. "Oh but I have," Scar said. "A good few of them, just a day or two ago… and they were alone, right on the very edge of our territory."

"Where?" asked the boy. "You better tell Dad! Then he can go and kill them all!"

"I don't think it's worth the King's attention," said Scar, turning away. "Not even the Majordomo's. I'd have gone after them myself, but I had… other predilections."

The trap was laid. A handful of enemy forces, isolated near the Pride Lands. Not worth the attention of the King, but any young warrior who took them out would prove his bravery to everyone. Simba would tell himself that he could handle it, and, in seconds, be captured or wounded. And then Zazu, who was patrolling the skies nearby, would swoop down for a closer look.

From there it would go like clockwork. He'd rush to the King, and the King would react by charging in head first. Scar would join him on the way, and walk Simba to safety while Mufasa did the fighting. And then-shockingly-a previously unnoticed swarm of hyenas would come forth and smother the Lion King until the life was snuffed out of him.

Blood for honor. The hyenas would consider themselves square with the lions, and the King-regent would do the same. Scar would take the throne until Simba came of age, and by that time, he'd know how to rule. He _would_ know how to rule, or else… Scar shook his head. He had years to work on Simba. He wouldn't fail.

But the plan wasn't without risk. Scar himself could be hurt, even killed if he didn't act quickly enough. As for Simba… Simba…

Now that it came down to it, Scar couldn't deny it anymore, not even to himself. It would be a miracle if Simba wasn't killed. In fact, it would be a miracle if Simba wasn't killed before he and Mufasa even got there. The boy might be able to resist for a few moments, he might even be able to run and hide for a bit, but the hyenas would hunt him down and drag him out of whatever hole he shivered in. And then, it would be curtains for him.

A child. An innocent little boy. Scar's favorite nephew. Scar's only nephew.

It was then that Scar became aware of an insistent tapping at his legs. Simba, it seemed, had taken to prodding at his uncle, addressing him repeatedly. Perhaps it had initially been to ask him where the hyenas were, but now it was a game. And now Simba was on his back, striking at his uncle with sheathed claws. _Playing_ with his uncle.

Scar looked around, discomforted by the idea of someone watching them, but in seconds Simba had him playfighting back. Never too roughly, but none too gently either, always for fun, always with good humor.

When they finished, Scar was in a heap and Simba was splayed on top of him as if in victory. He tugged at the dark lion's year, never too roughly, but none too gently either, and Scar concealed a stray tear with laughter. He would never roughhouse with Simba again after that day. _No one_ would ever roughhouse with Simba again after that day.

"Hey Uncle Scar," Simba said, a long time later. "We're pals, right?"

Scar grinned, biting back sadness. "Right."

"So then… just tell me where you saw the hyenas, okay? It's really important for us to deal with them, so that we can protect the pride, the _family_. Mom, Dad, Sarafina, and Nala, and Zira… everyone. Even you and me. Because that's what being the King is about, right?" he said. "It's about protecting everyone."

The child. The innocent precious child. All he wanted to do was to protect everyone; he couldn't help that he was being brainwashed into thinking that killing hyenas was the same as protecting everyone. And that was why what had to be done would be done. Simba was just… just collateral damage. An unavoidable sacrifice.

"It was just a joke," Scar heard himself say. Then, consciously, he smiled at his nephew. "A joke in bad taste, I admit it, but a joke nonetheless. Now come here, you."

And then he pounced on his squealing nephew and played with him until they were both exhausted. And to himself he swore then and there that no matter what happened, no matter what had to happen to Mufasa, nothing and no one would ever harm a hair on Simba's head.


	2. Chapter 2

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter Two

* * *

(TLKFan and Kovukono here again. And we now bring you Chapter Two.)

* * *

"Territory is everything," he said.

He wasn't speaking just to his boy, but the cheetah as well.

"It's what sets us apart from the base, wandering rogues. What gives us structure." His eyes darkened. "And I will not tolerate any challenge to it."

The cheetah was carefully weighing his next words, Simba could see that much. The Lion King wasn't quick to anger, he was quick to action. Doing something was always better than doing nothing, whether it be in a fight or in politics. And Mufasa always acted. No opportunities were lost on him. So the cheetah's next words, his excuse of why he considered an expansion of his own territory to be harmless, despite the outlines the crown had put out a year ago, weren't going to dictate whether Mufasa reacted or not. All it determined was how heavy a paw landed on the cheetah's head.

"My liege, the leopards were very much fine with this," he said. "They understood that we needed more room, more hunting space-we've just had so many more cubs. We-we assumed that you would agree since-since all parties were… were happy with the… arrangements…" The cheetah's voice petered out to a mutter as he looked away from Mufasa's scowl.

There was a very, very uncomfortable silence.

"Whose kingdom is this?" Mufasa boomed. It was the only sound in the savannah-even the wind had gone still.

"Yours, my liege," said the cheetah quickly, his eyes fixed firmly on the king's paws.

"And whose laws rule this kingdom?"

"Yours, my liege."

"And whose laws were you acting on?" The cheetah's mouth opened-and nothing came out. "Not mine."

"We-we can discuss this-"

A loud thwack made birds in distant trees take to the skies as the Lion King slammed the cheetah to the ground.

"We have nothing to discuss," he said. "You are going to return your people back to their territory. Their proper territory. And there you will stay."

"Yes, my liege!"

"And to pay for your crimes… you will be bringing the pride one fresh carcass. Per day. For a month."

"But-but sir, we have so many mouths to feed, and you're reducing-" The voice choked off as the King's paw pressed firmly on his trachea. The cheetah's paws scratched at the ground in panic.

"I am reducing nothing. I am reminding you of your place in my kingdom. My word is law-not yours. Be thankful that this is only for a month." He removed his paw and the cheetah gasped. "Learn to live within your means, Loya. This will be your only warning."

He turned to walk away, and his son followed after him, only taking a minute to glance back at the cheetah gasping for air. Simba could see anger in his eyes, frustration-but he would do nothing. Mufasa was king for a reason-no one dared try to act against him.

* * *

"Well, you… handled that," said Scar, speaking up for the first time.

Simba was surprised he'd even shown up. He hadn't wanted to come until he realized Simba was coming along. As a prince, technically Mufasa couldn't deny him-a fact that Scar had spent a solid two minutes explaining in scathing detail. Simba didn't know why, but he certainly did seem to enjoy annoying his brother.

"Of course I did," said Mufasa. "I'm the king."

"Perhaps you could consider restraint as one of your kingly properties."

"I did restrain myself," Mufasa said. "A more emotional lion might have killed the upstart. My punishment was firm, I admit it, but fair."

"Indeed," Scar leered. "By the way, my liege, I was thinking about having some zebra for lunch. Do I have your approval?"

"Watch your tone, brother," growled Mufasa, baring his teeth.

Scar sighed. "Mufasa, each day a dozen new problems spring up. In the end, you only address half of them, at best. These subjects managed to solve their own problem-and you chased them away because they didn't ask you first. Why not trust those who prove themselves able of governing themselves? Why must we micromanage everything?"

And then, literally falling from the sky, was the single most annoying voice of his childhood.

"While there are things the king must delegate, it is very important that he speak to his subjects!" Zazu preached. "The feeling of the monarch being a reachable, approachable figure is highly-"

"I'm sure Loya finds him very approachable after today," said Scar. "I would remind you that both the cheetahs and leopards make up a large part of the kingdom's border-and today we managed to antagonize both."

Simba already knew how this would go. Two animals who both loved the sound of their own voices in an argument, both sorely convinced they were in the right. It would probably end when one of them died-and resume once the other met them on the other side.

"It is their place to protect the border. We all have our places-and the king can't be expected to put his life in danger."

"Well, since his life is worth so much, how many leopards and cheetahs should happily have theirs in contention? They are subjects that not only protect us, but now can't even handle their own internal matters because of pride!"

He saw his father's mouth twitch. It seemed to have been doing that a lot lately around Scar. A quick jerk into a frown-and then gone a moment later. Scar might have noticed it, but he never would have noticed the second tic-a short unsheathing of the claws on his front paws to scratch at the dirt before moving back in. But you noticed things like that when you were only a foot off the ground.

"Pride?" Mufasa said. "I call it realism. I am the Lion King, and they are my subjects. They live, and die, based on my will for them to live and die."

"Precisely!" Zazu squaked. "The lives of the subjects-even me, even you, even Simba himself-are valued based on their utility to the standing monarch!"

"In that case, perhaps your greatest value to the standing monarch is as hornbill tartare."

"I will not discuss this matter further," Mufasa said, his voice cutting through the noise. "So consider the conversation closed. Is that clear?"

"I can only imagine what Father would have said," muttered the uncle.

Mufasa whirled around and Simba saw his paw rise, aiming for Scar's face with a roar that made the cub shake. There was a solid thud as it met Scar's upright foreleg, the paw stopping an inch from his face.

"Why, you almost gave me another scar. Mufasa, we're family," said Scar, his tone a mix between soothing and gloating. "Would you really strike your own brother?" Simba saw his father's eyes narrow as his teeth bared. "...In front of your son?"

"Yes," the Lion King growled. "A firm but fair punishment. Simba, come with me," he said. "Scar-you're fetching dinner."

Simba quickly moved after his father, not entirely happy about the company that he would be keeping after Scar had riled him up.

"What am I, a lioness?" asked Scar haughtily.

The Lion King stopped and his son nearly ran smack into his leg. He looked Scar dead in the eye.

"Brother, you are whatever I want you to be," he said.

And then he turned and walked off, his son loping to keep up with him.

* * *

Simba walked with Mufasa in silence. He knew his father better than anyone-at least, he thought he did. And he was beyond angry, he was furious.

After a few moments, Simba finally got up the courage to ask, "Dad, are...are you mad at me?"

The Lion King stopped for a moment, then sighed, lowering his head. "No, son. I'm not mad at you."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise." He rubbed the prince's head and kept walking. "Did you enjoy today? What did you learn?"

"A lot, but Dad, I don't understand. Last month, when the parrots and the parakeets said they wanted to trade their territories, you let them. You barely even cared about the deals they were making."

"I didn't much care about the deal itself," Mufasa said. "I cared that they came for my blessing. That's what's important, Simba. That's what being a leader is. Being in charge and letting people know about it, so that there's never a question about who has what authority or how much. A true leader, a good leader, has all of the authority. The cheetahs might not have known that earlier, but they will now. And they'll never forget it."

It's all about the image. That was the saying that had been drilled into Simba's head, and it had merit. A leader who wasn't respected was no leader at all. And spreading authority too thin, letting decisions be made in a decentralized fashion, that was a fast track to anarchy.

But still. The cheetahs had had a lot of cubs recently, and the problem they'd solved, they'd solved without bothering anyone else or hurting them. They might have gotten a bit ahead of themselves by going around Mufasa, but… but that was no reason to fine them so heavily.

"You don't seem convinced," Mufasa noted.

Such a simple phrase. But it told Simba that he was walking on a razor's edge. If he lied, his father would know. If he told the truth-that he didn't understand why a good leader ought to punish the cheetahs so harshly-then he'd be insubordinate. He was precisely one wrong word from a scolding, or worse, and he knew it. And so he chose his words carefully.

"I just don't understand, Dad," he said. "It must make sense to you because you've been King for years, but I-I just don't get it." His father was staring at him with anything but friendliness on his face, but Simba couldn't let himself stammer. That, too, would earn him a scolding.

"It's just… the cheetahs did take your authority away, by making a deal without asking you. And they definitely should have been punished. But isn't it better... to rule from a position of love, not fear?" Simba said. "The cheetahs will fear you now, just like our enemies should, but the cheetahs aren't our enemies. I don't know, Dad, would it have been wrong to be merciful to them? Just this once?"

Mufasa seemed to roll the idea over in his mind several times before responding. "Perhaps," he finally admitted. "But that's a risk, Simba. It's easy for those who never have to be leaders to criticize and call for mercy, but I am the leader, and I know that the slightest slip, the slightest show of anything but absolute strength… that can be a fast track to the end of days. Do you understand?"

That was a loaded question, and Simba knew better than to try his luck again. He responded in the affirmative and fell in step behind his father with his head held high and his posture beyond reproach. Mufasa was right about one thing-it was important for a leader to have an image.

* * *

Contrast that with the gargoyle leering over the Pride Lands from his post on Pride Rock. That lithe build, that tousled unkempt hair, that hunched back… Scar could take a lesson or two from Mufasa. On image, Simba thought, and just about nothing else.

He was brooding, as he frequently did. Simba could tell that just by looking at those unblinking green eyes. A thousand things were on his mind: the situation with the hyenas, the forthcoming dry season, maybe even the leopards and the cheetahs. Who knew? Zazu didn't officially report to anyone but Mufasa, but Scar was officially some sort of advisor to his brother. Even if the feathered majordomo was as pompous and official as he put himself out there as, he had to acknowledge that.

Perhaps it had already happened. Or perhaps Simba would be the first to report to Scar. Either way, when he was facing his uncle's back like that, and when the sun was behind him… there was no choice. It was time to practice pouncing.

Low to the ground. Feel the earth beneath your claws. Get into position-wait, just calm down and wait for it… and then… pounce!

Simba charged forward and jumped. At the last moment, his uncle ducked, and he might have careened off Pride Rock into open air if the lion hadn't caught him by the scruff of the neck and set him down on his rear end.

And then Scar looked down at his nephew. Sternly, with a straight back and a wisdom beyond his age on his face. With the sun behind him, he looked positively stately. Maybe Mufasa was the one that could use an image lesson after all.

"Simba, Simba, Simba," Scar chided. "People are watching. You're the future king-you can't play around when your future subjects are watching."

"I wasn't playing," Simba said. "I was pouncing."

"And making a game out of it, surely," Scar said. "Unless you mean to tell me that that half-witted leap was a serious attempt at pouncing?"

He held that stern gaze on his expression for no more than a moment before a smile split his features.

"So. Your father showed you the whole kingdom, did he?"

"More or less," Simba said. "All of the important areas, anyway. We didn't go to the watering hole because it's shared territory, or the stream that cuts through the grasslands, because there's nothing to see there. But other than that… yes, Uncle Scar, we saw the whole kingdom."

Scar shut his eyes. His lips twitched before he spoke again.

"It's your father's opinion that the watering hole is unimportant, is it?" he said. "Well, Simba, what's your opinion on the importance of the watering hole?"

He couldn't be asking that question if he agreed with Mufasa's opinion, Simba thought. That meant that, in Scar's opinion, the watering hole was important. But why?

"Well," the cub said slowly, "it is shared territory…"

"So are the grasslands," Scar pointed out. "And that's where the cheetahs, the lions, and the leopards do a good deal of their hunting when the herds are on the move. Tell me, Simba, what would life be like in the Pride Lands, if something were to happen to the grasslands?" He paused, for effect, before continuing. "Answer that question, Simba, then ask yourself what life in the Pride Lands would be like if the watering hole were to, say, dry up."

"But that would be a disaster!" Simba exclaimed.

"Precisely," Scar said. "So tell me Simba-is the watering hole important, or isn't it?"

"It's very important," Simba said. "For everyone, not just the lions. That's where everyone goes when they can't get water anywhere else. And it's where there's a truce, even between predator and prey animals."

Scar just nodded.

"I agree with your father insofar that territory, and property, are what separate us from wandering nomads. It's these understandings and agreements that make our lives better than the solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short lives our ancestors lived. But Simba, territory isn't just about who controls the best hunting grounds for the biggest wildebeest, or the scenic overlooks, or what have you.

"It's about strategy, in a nutshell," Scar said. "When you consider what territory is important and what isn't, consider who needs it and how badly they need it. Here's an example," he said. "How valuable is the creek in the far south of our land, where the flamingos gather to mate every year? How valuable is that, compared to the pass between the gorge and the grasslands? Think out loud," he said.

"Well…" Simba began, "the pass is… ugly, and hot, and most of the time, nothing happens there. But when the herds move from the gorge to the grassland, it's a bottleneck," he said. "Dad said that last year, when we had a shortage of food, he had a party of lionesses attack the herds at that bottleneck. He was there… and they brought down enough wildebeest to survive the season."

Scar nodded. "Very good," he said. "And the creek?"

"Dad took me there last week," he said. "It's beautiful. It's quiet, and peaceful, and you can see the fish at the bottom, the waters are so clear. But… it's not that useful," Simba admitted. "You can fish there, I guess, and the water is fine for drinking… but there's not much of it. Not enough for a pride, anyway. Plus, it's so far away from Pride Rock… it's a nice place to visit, sure, but not exactly strategically important."

"Isn't it?" Scar said. And Simba knew from the knowing smirk on his face that he was missing something.

"Well, not to us, anyway," he said, and that was as far as he got.

"Not to us, no, it doesn't," Scar said. "But what about the flamingos, who have gathered there at the same time each year to mate, since time immemorial?"

"I… I guess that makes it important to them," Simba said. "But they could move-"

"And we could move from Pride Rock," Scar said, "but not even the most radical lion would consider that a viable option. Not even me." He smiled, and drew Simba up close to him so that, together, they could look over the Pride Lands.

"One day you will be the Lion King," Scar said. "But the name can be misleading. You will be king, but not just of the lions. Everyone in our land-every species-will look to you for leadership and guidance. And protection. And a king is not a king if he won't defend the hallowed homestead of one of his subjects, no matter how unimportant it is to his race. Because, Simba, when you take the throne, the lions won't be your people. Not them alone, anyway. Everyone will be your people. Everyone. Do you understand?"

Simba's chest felt like it was swelling. At the same time, he felt as if crushed by the weight of his burden. The Lion King… not just the king of lions, but the king of everyone. At least, almost everyone.

"I won't be king of the hyenas," Simba said. "They don't recognize the Lion King. They don't even live in the Pride Lands."

And Scar turned away, toward the distant shadowed regions beyond the borders of their land.

"You're right," he said. "The hyenas don't live in the Pride Lands. But Simba, does that really mean they're not people? Because they don't live in your nation? Tell me, would a good Lion King utterly disregard the hyenas, and their concerns, merely because they were born on the wrong side of an artificial border?"

He could see the gears in the boy's head starting to turn faster. And faster. Too fast. This was too much too soon.

"Something to think about for next time," Scar said delicately. "Consider it an academic exercise, no more. Now, Simba, run along and play. You're a cub, prince or not, and you must have a cubhood."

At that moment, Simba might have ceded the throne itself to press the point. The line of thought his uncle had sent him down-it went against everything he had ever been taught, and every instinct he had as well. But that didn't mean that the idea was without merit. Or even wrong.

Still, he knew from a single glance at his uncle's face that he wouldn't get another word on the topic from him. Even now the smirk on the dark lion's face was halfway between condescension and good humor.

And so Simba headbutted his shin, half as a joke, half out of annoyance, and left him to his own thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mother! _Mother!_ Do you _have_ to bathe me again today?"

"Yes, dear."

"But I just took a bath last week!"

The lioness scoffed. Then she carried on licking her child.

"As well you should," she said. "Perfect mind, perfect heritage… but you won't have the world handed to you on a silver platter, my daughter. You deserve nothing but what you earn, and you must earn everything for yourself. With each hunt, with each breath you take, _earn_ every ounce of respect you are given."

Nala agreed that there was value in being clean, and that a girl of her birth ought to have a certain image… but this was a little too much. Her fur was so polished it practically shone, and besides, there was no one there, enjoying the shade under the juniper tree, except for her and her mother.

"Ah. Sarafina. I thought I'd find you here."

That voice-Nala was out of her mother's grasp and on her feet in a heartbeat. When Sarabi drew closer, she bowed. And behind her, her mother did the same, though she didn't trouble herself to get to her feet.

"And here I am," she said. "Do you need something?"

"I was looking for Simba."

"I haven't seen him. As you can see," she said, snatching Nala just before she managed to escape, "I've got my paws a bit full right now."

"Mother-Mom, I'm clean-"

"You're clean when I say you're clean," said Sarafina in her mothering, no-nonsense voice. She started to groom her daughter again, eyes shut until she realized that Sarabi was still there, staring at them.

Then, finally, Sarafina stopped, looking up at the Queen of the Lions. "Well, Sarabi? How can I help you?"

"If you don't know where Simba is, do you at least know where my husband is?" she asked smiling sweetly.

"The king? Oh, he's out with the cheetahs. Settling some territory dispute. He should be back with us any minute now."

"Do you think Simba might have gone with him?"

Sarafina let Nala go. "You know what? He might have," she said, turning look at the queen fully. "Maybe. Tell me, do you lose your son often?"

Sarabi's face darkened.

"I'm _joking_ , Sarabi," Sarafina said, laughing pleasantly.

Sarabi half growled. Nala didn't know what the queen had to say-but it wasn't being said.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm a bit busy with cleaning my daughter. Having some _alone_ time," Sarafina said pointedly.

Sarabi snorted and left the two alone, the smile fading from Sarafina's face as she went.

"Mother, why's the queen unhappy?" asked Nala.

"Who knows?" scoffed Sarafina. "Some people just don't get along with others, I suppose. Now roll over so I can do your tummy."

Nala made to comply, but something caught her eye. Something in the grass, not five yards away. What was it? It twitched, and it turned, and then she understood what was going on.

She counted to three, mentally, and then leaned back, controlling her back, her legs, and the result was that Simba's pounce was reversed and she ended up on top of him, holding him to the ground.

That move her mother had taught her. But the sweet soft lick she favored the Prince's cheek with was a creation of all her own. It was only after the gesture of affection that she let him up and bowed her head.

"Our Prince graces us with his presence. How are you, my liege?" she said. She stared at his feet throughout this statement until the end, when she made eye contact with him. That way, he'd see her smiling.

"Nala, stop talking to me like that, you know I don't like it!" he said. When Nala laughed, he clouted her on the shoulder, friendly-like, and in a moment the two cubs were play-fighting each other again.

Nala was the clear superior, but the workout regimen Mufasa had his son on saw Simba losing by less than he tended to. And the whole while, Sarafina sat watching and grooming her paws.

At last the affianced children finished their play. For sportsmanship's sake, Nala allowed Simba the final victory; he ended up pinning her down and nipping at her throat in a way that, already, was intimidating. He was just a boy without a mane-what would happen when he was a fully grown lion, with the muscle and the voice of his father? How many hyenas, Nala thought, would be in precisely the position that she was? The view that she enjoyed… this would be the last thing that so many of them would ever see.

Finally he let her up. They spent a moment nuzzling until Sarafina laughed, softly, and stood up.

"I have patrol duties, so I'll give you two some privacy. But remember, don't go far. Right, Nala?" she said.

The young lioness met her mother's eyes. She nodded once and then Sarafina left without another word, leaving the cubs alone.

And for some reason, that made Simba nervous. To be with that precocious young girl, without the supervision of an adult? And already she was licking her lips and drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer to him still.

Then she laughed and rubbed her head against his. She pranced off, laughing the whole while, and Simba found himself following her. No matter where she went, he'd follow.

* * *

The sun had nearly peaked in the sky by the time they reached the waterhole, an outlying oasis some distance from other major landmarks. Technically, it wasn't exactly close to where Pride Members tended to frequent, but it was deep in lion territory and everyone knew who Nala and Simba were. As such, the often crowded oasis became remarkably empty as they approached it.

Simba was dusty and a bit tired by then. He trained for strength and bursts of energy, rather stalking for hours in the hot sun, as they'd been doing that morning. Nala was still as fresh and clean as she had been when her mother finished with her. As such, she deferred to him and allowed him to touch his lips to the water first. At least, until…

"Wait," Nala said. "Simba, have you ever heard of the Run from Hell?"

"The Run from Hell?" Simba repeated. "No, what's that?"

"It's just something lions used to do in the pride to prove their bravery," she said. "Years ago, I mean. Some of the old lionesses told me that their husbands did it to win their hands in marriage."

Simba arched a brow. "Then why haven't I heard of it?"

"Because when your father and uncle were starting to come of age, your grandfather banned it," Nala said. "It's pretty dangerous… the way it works is that you have to spend a morning out in the sun, and get nice and tired, and then-without drinking water-you have to go into the west side of the gorge, and run all the way to the east.

"And in the middle of the day, that crevice is like an oven. It gets monstrously- _unspeakably_ hot in there. And that's why your grandfather banned it," Nala said. "Too many lions were trying it before they were ready, and dying."

"But that's what bravery is all about," Simba said. "You can't be brave without taking any risks, can you?"

"I don't think so either," Nala admitted. "But I guess it's for the best. Your father didn't do it and neither did your uncle-well, at least not until they were fully grown, and not just cubs-so it's okay if you don't do it, I'm sure no one will call you a coward-"

"Me? A coward?" Simba said. "I'm the heir to the throne of the Lion King, so one will will _dare_ to call me a coward. And I won't let them think it, either."

Through the course of the conversation, Simba's chin had dipped into the water. When he realized this, he slapped the moisture from his face and struck the liquid surface with his paw. And then he turned toward the mouth of the gorge and started to march.

"But wait, Simba!" Nala said. "It's banned, remember?"

"Only by my grandfather," he retorted. "And since my father has never told me not to do it, I'm unbanning it now. If my father wants to punish me for it, he can-after I'm finished."

And then he marched on with his head held high. A gaggle of trees might have offered him shade, but he rejected them, electing to walk in the face of the sun, straight to the gorge, straight to his run, straight to Hell.


	4. Chapter 4

He had to do it. He had no choice. There were some things...some things that just had to be taken care of personally. He climbed up Pride Rock, winded and panting, a gash on his side. Nothing fatal, not even close-but it could have been. It could have been. He had been backed into this corner, and forced to take action, and now the king himself was injured.

And it was all the hyenas' fault.

It was because of them. Because they intruded into hi lands. He had to chase them off, because who knew who else would do it. And Scar, the slippery, double-speaking bastard, didn't seem to even care. The menace had to be stopped. This was his kingdom-and clearly only he could protect it now.

He let out an involuntary groan as he hoisted himself up the last rock, gathering the attention of some of the lionesses there.

"My king?" someone said. And in a moment, all of the lionesses were on their feet. "What happened-are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" he snarled.

"You're bleeding! What-"

"I'm bleeding because no one else was there. Because no one was there to help me against the hyena menace!"

The lionesses fell silent.

"None of you seem to give a damn about this kingdom! I don't see a single one of you lifting a paw to protect it or patrol it! Not one of you seems to realize that we're in danger!"

There was a very, very uncomfortable silence, the lionesses looking at each other. The cowards didn't even want to look at him.

"Your majesty, we thought you were keeping us us safe and-and secure," stammered one.

"And you think that I couldn't use help?"

"Help with what, exactly?"

God, that snide voice. That smug charm, how he hated it. The aloof posture, the superior, demeaning gait… Scar looked the king over, and his eyes widened. "You're bleeding."

"Yes, brother, I'm bleeding!" he snarled.

"Yes, yes, but why?" Scar said flatly.

"I was chasing off hyenas!"

And now Scar was really serious. "There were hyenas in the Pridelands?" he asked, his voice hushed. "They did this to you?"

"I had to chase them off alone, brother." He stepped toward Scar, wincing as he felt his side burn. "But that isn't what you would have done, is it? You would have left them this far inside the Pridelands, given them hugs and made peace-"

"Brother-"

"There is a threat, Scar, one that I keep trying to tell you-"

"Brother, I-"

"Brother what?!"

"Brother, I was wrong."

Mufasa blinked.

"If they truly did violate our borders that much, and if they dared to lift a paw against you, then it's acceptable to… to help them leave." He stepped forward. "I'm sorry I wasn't there at your side."

He expected the lakes to boil and the sky to rain blood. Scar, apologizing?

"You're sorry," Mufasa said.

Scar nodded. "I'll go get Rafiki myself," he said, walking off.

"...Thank you, Scar." Words he had never imagined he would say. Least of all now.

He took a deep breath and lowered himself down, ignoring the pain in his side. He honestly couldn't remember the last time that Scar hadn't been on the other side of the argument. Now, he almost seemed tolerable.

Well. A moment of tolerability didn't excuse a lifetime of intolerability. Nevermind his stupid foreign policy ideas.

And then Zazu came fluttering in from the distant horizons, shouting as soon as he was within earshot.

"Sire! Sire! Sire, it's urgent!" Scar paused in mid-step, looking back at the hornbill. "Stampede. In the gorge. Simba's down there!"

For the briefest second, he and Scar stared at one another. Not a word passed between them, though, before they started to run at best speed to the south.

"Secure the borders!" he yelled back at the lionesses. "The paths in the gorge are too narrow for more than my brother and I. And the hyenas that attacked me-they were just a scouting party. It's up to you to keep the others out!"

The moment of distraction put Scar a few strides ahead of his brother, but it wasn't long before the more powerful red-maned lion caught up. His injury slowed him down, though, so the brothers were soon racing neck and neck, side by side, toward the gorge, toward Simba.

Already grass was giving way to bare sand and rock. Already the dust could be seen rising into the air from where the herd had kicked it up. A thousand animals and four times as many hooves, and each one of them could be a death blow for the future king.

And yet, for a moment, he and Scar found themselves looking at one another. This was the first time they had run together-done anything together, in… neither of them could remember how long.

And then the cry of the lion cub brought them both back to where they were.

Scar was the first to dart over the cliff precipice and along the shaking narrow trail into the bowels of the gorge. His brother followed him, panting, bleeding harder than ever.

A thousand animals. More than a thousand animals. A teeming mass of living chaos, all terrified, all swarming, all running as fast as they could. The dust was so thick and the sun was so bright that though both lions tried, they couldn't see, couldn't-

"There, there, on that tree!" Zazu cried.

And through the haze of the bodies, the dust, the thunderous roar of a hundred stomping hooves, they saw him. That precious little defenseless boy clinging to the tree.

"Hold on, Simba!" his father bellowed. But it made little difference, regardless of whether or not Simba could hear him. He was a goner. Dead, unless someone saved him. Unless he saved him. And so Mufasa coiled his muscles and prepared to jump-

"No, Sire! You mustn't!"

That was Zazu, darting in front of his face and crowding him away from the edge.

"I mustn't-I mustn't save my own son?" Mufasa thundered.

"No, Sire!" Zazu said. "Please, the life of the monarch is invaluable. You don't risk the king to save the queen, and you certainly don't risk the king to save the prince!"

Mufasa snarled, but through that snarl, he began to cry. He knew that his Majordomo was right. And so he turned to his brother-just in time to watch as Scar darted down to the lower part of the cliffside.

"Go and check the lands south of the gorge," Mufasa heard himself say. "Sarafina and another lioness may be on a patrol near there; if they're still in the area, maybe they can help from the other side."

Zazu nodded, but rather than moving, he opened his big beak to squawk again.

"Now!" Mufasa yelled. "Damn it, NOW!"

And finally, the Majordomo alight from his perch and darted off into peaceful clear blue skies. That trouble finally taken care of, the Lion King turned to watch, just as his brother jumped down into living chaos.

* * *

Rock formation left. Charging wildebeest right. Jump past it, roll to your feet, and take a glancing blow off the one that had sprinted up unseen behind it.

Too many animals to track. All choked with dust, every one of them moving at fifty miles per hour. No time to think, only to act. And Simba's grip on the branch was weakening all the time.

Simba. His laughter when they roughhoused together, his tears when he told his uncle about the barely-justified beatings he received, his curiosity, his love for learning, and, above all else, the fact that his uncle was the light in his life. And that he was the light in his uncle's life.

The next wildebeest that darted toward Scar seemed Hell-bent on a collision path. But instead of dodging, Scar lowered his stance, prepared himself, and then, all at once, engaged every last muscle in his body.

He leaped forward and tackled his enemy to the ground. The force of the onslaught was enough to knock aside several of the others around it, and drop the next one behind it. Soon there was a car made of living flesh that Scar drove with his jaws, and it was getting bigger with each successive impact, each successive body bolted on to the pile.

A quick left-right twist of his head tore out his target's throat and ended its life. And now the path to Simba was-more or less-clear. Better yet, the boy hadn't gawked and frozen up at the awe his uncle had just managed; he stayed aware and useful, just like he had been taught. And when his uncle was close enough, he dropped down from the tree and allowed the dark lion to take him by the scruff of his neck.

And, just when each of the lions thought they were in the clear, Hell itself broke loose. The dam of writhing bodies Scar had created was overwhelmed, all at once, by no fewer than a half dozen of the biggest, strongest wildebeest he had ever seen.

No time to think, only to act. Dash up to the rock wall and scamper high enough to deposit Simba on safety, and then brace yourself before the raging beasts batter you down and carry you away.

* * *

The last shock of wavy black mane disappeared into the herd. Scar was gone-vanished-trampled to pieces beneath a thousand pounding hooves. Simba screamed so loudly that he heard it, even over the chaos, even over the beating of his own heart in his own chest.

And then a motion. A movement. One beast was knocked aside by some unseen force, and then, all at once, Scar fought to his feet and leaped for the rockside. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he began to muscle his way up the sheer textureless surface, to where his brother stood on a stable outcropping, several meters away from the chaos.

Mufasa reached down to Scar. The dark lion reached for him-and fell down, almost into the same Hellhole that he'd just escaped. Only an unseen fracture in the rock formation broke his fall.

The Lion King swore. Then he met eyes with his son.

"Get away from there!" he thundered. "It's too dangerous. Climb to safety, Simba. Now!"

A charging bull bashed up against the rockside. Simba stumbled and nearly careened over the edge, but he caught himself and shrieked an assent to his father. Then he turned into a nearby crevice, a fissure of shattered rock and sand, and started to climb.

It was almost peaceful in that little tunnel. Almost. The earth trembled and shook, but the worst of the roar of the charge was dampened. And there was nothing to see. Nothing but stone and dust and the distant light at the end.

Simba felt himself crying. He swore and rubbed the back of his paw across his visage and then climbed faster. Kings didn't cry. Not even if they were just future kings. And besides, everyone was going to be alright. He was alright, his father was alright, and as soon as Uncle Scar climbed back up and locked paws with the Lion King, he'd be alright, too.

Simba felt himself start to smile. Just a little bit. And that expression held, even as he emerged from the tunnel. He saw Scar's pain as Mufasa's claws sank into him, saw his father's body pull with all the force it had, and for the briefest moment his heart began to beat again as his uncle's head crested the top. And then, suddenly, Scar's hind legs had no purchase, claws scrabbling for a hold that wasn't there.

He saw Mufasa's grip loose and Scar fell against the mountain, sliding lower. Scar pulled himself up, terror in his eyes, and Simba saw his father nearly go over as he reached for his uncle. Scar roared out-and then, as Mufasa pulled again, Scar slipped.

The hind legs broke free, pebbles spraying from the canyon wall.

Mufasa's grip on his brother gave out, Scar's body suspended for one moment before he fell.

His mouth opened, fear in his eyes, "Mufasa!" ripping from him as he fell.

And then-then he was gone. Simba stared where he had landed, nothing but wildebeest trampling over him. He looked over at his father and saw him still halfway over the cliff. Mufasa stared down at that same spot, stunned, unmoving.

Scar was dead.


	5. Chapter 5

Sun shone in the sky, but not a bird passed through it. The air was still, the grass barely rustling at all. It was as if the land itself seemed to recognize the tragedy that had befallen the kingdom.

It was in that lifeless afternoon that the king addressed the pride for the first time since the incident, the wound on his side long ago tended to.

"Scar," he said softly, "is dead. My brother is dead. And he gave his life so that my son would live. So that I wouldn't be forced to make the choice of saving Simba at my own expense, or watching him die in front of me. He gave his life for me." Mufasa swallowed, his eyes watering, but he forced himself to remain strong. "He gave his life for the kingdom."

He looked over the others. Few other tears were shed. Scar had been a part of this pride, a vital part-but he had no one. No one close enough to even truly mourn him at his own funeral. Save one-Simba, nuzzling his mother, as tears streamed down his face. He was close to Scar, closer than Mufasa realized, closer than anyone else.

"There were many times when I didn't care for my brother," he admitted. "Times when I felt he went out of his way to contradict me. Even times when I felt he attempted to usurp my rule. But in the end, he was my brother. He was family. And he had the kingdom in his heart, as every good lion does. For all our fights, for all our disagreements, he did mean for a stronger kingdom-a better kingdom."

He turned, wincing as his side pained him, his heavy paws resting on the very edge of Pride Rock as his subjects looked on.

"I doubted his loyalty. His commitment. But in the end, I was proven wrong. In the end, my brother left a legacy that I fear I might never live up to."

He bowed his head low, shaking it. "He should not have been put into that position," he said softly. "No one should have." He turned again, the pain in his side sharp and burning as Zazu fluttered out of his way.

"No one should have to put themselves in the position to damn themselves to save another!" he said. He glanced down at his son. "But I don't blame you, Simba. This...this is not your fault. Not your doing." He looked at the lionesses, his pride, all that he had left. "I don't even blame the wildebeest! No, I place the blame solely on those who planned this!"

He saw them looking at each other in confusion.

"Is it a coincidence that I was ambushed, injured, barely able to escape from attack only a few minutes from the gorge? That my son was attacked by wildebeest who were not even intending to migrate?" he snarled. He began pacing in front of them, every other step a pained limp as his side throbbed angrily. "I was torn into by mangy, flea-bitten dogs who would have taken the entire kingdom from me!"

"I am injured. My son nearly died. My brother _is_ dead! The very animals that my brother tried to protect, that he would have peace with, are the reason he is dead!" he thundered. He stormed to the precipice once more. "Hyenas attacked me! They would have had me try to rescue my son, and have us both taken to the stars under the hooves of a thousand frightened beasts! They are the reason my brother, our Scar, is dead!"

He saw the anger growing on their faces as they saw the threat.

"They have ventured into our kingdom for the last time!" he snarled. "They would tear us down by ripping off our head, and they are no longer a threat that can be ignored! In the name of my brother, I hereby declare unconditional, total, and absolute war on the hyenas! Victory will only be ours when the last one is wiped from the face of the planet. Who stands with me? Who stands with the Lion King?!"

Their mouths opened, some more reluctantly than others. But in seconds, the combined roar of the pride spread across the savanna in a terrifying rumble. This would be the only warning that the hyenas would receive.

* * *

It was peaceful that night in the den. The last peaceful night that they'd have for a long, long while. And the Lion King lay there, wide awake but unmoving.

His son wasn't with him. He turned-and saw the boy sitting alone on the precipice of Pride Rock.

For a moment, Mufasa's eyes narrowed. Then he stood and silently made his way to his son's side. And together they looked at the kingdom that was theirs and the kingdom above it.

"Dad?" he heard after a few moments. He looked down and saw Simba sitting next to him, eyes wide with concern. "Are-are you okay?"

"I am. I just needed some air. And some time with my boy." He ruffled the cub's ears with his paw. "What's on your mind, son?"

"I'm just worried about you," he said, looking at the leaves pressed over the gash on his side. "Does it hurt?"

"A little, but your dad's tough," he said. "It's going to take more than that to take me down."

He felt Simba huddle closer to him, the wind chilling the cub's small body.

"Dad, when you die, you go up there, right?" he asked. "Into the sky? Into the stars?"

"Yes, son. All of the great kings of our past are there, watching over us."

"And Uncle Scar's up there too, right?" he asked.

Mufasa sighed. "Kings shine in life and in the afterlife, Simba. Scar wasn't king. He will never shine."

"But...why not? He saved me. He saved you, too. You said that. You just said it today."

He felt as if he had to choose my words carefully. "There are many beings who do many great deeds. Some big. Some small. Most, Simba, you'll never hear about. But only kings can shine among the stars, for we are who have the greatest duties, who do the greatest deeds of them all. Do you understand?"

"...So you're saying Scar isn't up there," he said quietly, ears flattening against his head. He saw his eyes welling up. Scar had saved his life-and now his uncle would be forgotten.

Mufasa paused, then brought him close in a hug. "Scar might not be visible," he said, "but… perhaps he still looks down on you. On all of us. Watching and protecting. An unshining star to keep us safe."

"Really?" asked Simba.

"Really," Mufasa said. He licked his son's cheek. "Now come on. You go back to bed. I'll be back in a few minutes." He felt Simba nuzzle his leg before he ran back inside.

"An unshining star. That's a new one, Sire."

Mufasa turned and half-smiled at his Majordomo. A quirk of his head had the hornbill alight on his shoulder

"Nonsense, I know. But if it comforts the boy, perhaps it's worth it."

Zazu grinned. And then, slowly, he looked away from his king, into the far distances of the Pride Lands, and what lay beyond them.

"Is something on your mind?" Mufasa said.

"Sire, I… when the lionesses and I arrived at the gorge… you kept Sarafina, and sent me and Sameera to take Simba back to safety. Which we did, Sire, with all haste. But…"

"But?" Mufasa said.

"But…" Zazu swallowed. "But Sire, before you interred your brother into the river, I… I couldn't see very well, I was so far away, but… but it seemed as if… as if he was still breathing."

Mufasa froze. And for a long, long time, he didn't speak. And then a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

"He _was_ still breathing. He… even regained consciousness, just for a moment, but… he was crippled, paralyzed from the neck down, and agonized, so he asked Sarafina and I to make it quick. Begged us, even. And then he passed out. If he still was alive when we got him into the river… then I admit it, we killed him. But it was a mercy killing."

And then the King wept. And then his Majordomo wept. But something about the way Zazu kept looking back at him, as if to gauge his expression…

"Zazu," Mufasa said, "now that I think of it… when the Prince and I came out here, you were reclining, were you not?"

"Well, no, I mean, yes," Zazu said. He paused and swallowed. "I mean, yes, Sire, I was reclining."

"And reclining you remained until the Prince left."

"Yes, Sire," Zazu said, slowly drawing himself into a straighter, more rigid posture.

And then he jumped when the Lion King's jaws snapped at him and hovered in the air some distance away.

"I've let you think too highly of yourself. You, a Majordomo, a servant at best… you've started to forget your customs and courtesies," Mufasa said.

"No, Sire, I mean, I'm sorry, I-"

"Silence."

One word was all it took. Zazu lingered in the air and Mufasa stared at him, for a moment, before he turned back to his kingdom.

"Go and scout out the hyena territory that borders the grasslands. _All_ of the hyena territory that borders the grasslands. I expect you back at Pride Rock within a month, but return within the fortnight at your own peril. Now begone."

Zazu dipped his head and then zoomed off into the distance at best speed, a faint lingering scent and a few perturbed feathers all that remained of him. But Mufasa paid these no attention. His eyes were on the stars, on the cosmos, on the mysteries that they might hide.

"An unshining star," he said. "Pah."

He spat, turned, and returned to the den not to sleep, but to plot. The war was declared, and the very next morning, his legions would strike with the sun.


End file.
